


The Arrival

by practice_recklessly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, reuniting characters, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/practice_recklessly/pseuds/practice_recklessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brotherhood Without Banners arrives at the newly reformed Winterfell. While pledging to the great cause, a smaller war of emotions builds between fallen warrior Sandor Clegane and the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> **Reader Notes:**
> 
>   1. Apologies in advanced but there might be possible canon discrepancies, I have only read "A Game of Thrones" and excerpts but avidly watch the show
>   2. Rough timeline has this after Season 6, I transported Brienne and Podrick before the BWB and Sandor to Winterfell
>   3. These are in the POV of Sansa and Sandor and some chapters showcase both, look to the chapter titles
>   4. If you're just here for explicit content, go to the last chapter because the rest of this is not explicit at all
>   5. Sansa is aged up, to what age is up to the reader I leave this open to you
> 

> 
> You can really tell it's my first time navigating this site because for about 5 minutes I didn't know I was posting live and not saving a draft. It was all very confusing, nothing was formatted. I got the hang of it now. If you saw a previous one under this author name as "A Wanton Arrival" it was me messing around with this platform. I deleted it so if you were lucky enough to read like 5 mins of it, cool. I prefer this title and this formatting of it.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> There are Writer's Notes at the very end of the fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor among a brotherhood brings back emotional memories for the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark.

Sitting still in a dim solar, Sansa stared at streaks in the wood of the table. There was no intention in her eyes, she was glossed over wondering just how many times she had sat here previous. Twenty, fifty, hundreds of times. The chair was well worn but it was not her chair, it was her mother's chair. A chair she would sew in, read in, drink tea and listen to her daughter's wishes of tall castles and gallant knights. Sansa thought it felt nostalgic in a sombre way, she had her hands on her lap, one hand balled into the other's palm and in there was something hidden. A keepsake Sansa deemed important. Sansa was about to open her hands when there was a rapping at the door.

"Lady Sansa, the court will have you now. There are visitors and queries." Brienne annunciated loudly, making sure she was heard.

"I am coming." Sansa said softly. She tucked her hidden keepsake into her dress sleeve and pulled her cloak over her shoulders. It was a dark color, trimmed neatly with a black fox fur, Sansa had added beautiful bramble roses to the borders of the cloak, all in dark beads of wood and glass. Sansa exited her solar and met Brienne's stare, she curtsied as Brienne took to one knee. Brienne was fitted in her dark charcoal armor, now with a winter cloak in a dark maroon color. Brienne had a stoll of rabbit furs, sewn together to cover her massive shoulders, a gift from her liege Lady. Sansa remembered pulling together the leathers and fur whilst in her Mother's chair. She thought of the love Brienne must have had for her mother Catelyn, her efforts to find lost Stark children. Determined even after being turned away, once. Sansa regretted that day, many times she found herself looking back. She sewed those feelings into the stole.

"It looks good on you, is it warm enough?" Sansa asked Brienne as she touched Brienne's shoulder. She brushed the rabbit fur to reveal her silver brooch. It was in the shape of a sun and moon.

"Yes, it's very warm. You are too kind to have gifted me with such craftsmanship. I will cherish it always." Brienne said with a faint smile, it was there for a second as it faded back.

"You normally wait for me in the great hall. Has something changed this morning Brienne?" Sansa inquired. It was true that Sansa knew her duties as Lady of Winterfell, her Brother Jon might be King of the North but his attention turned to preparing for the war to come. Many nights Sansa and Jon discussed and quarrelled over the duties of Winterfell. Jon only thought of the future war, Sansa thought of the present winter.

"Yes, my lady. As it would seem, the incoming visitors can only be described as aimless ruffians. A band without banners, or well they called themselves a Brotherhood." Brienne explained as she pulled herself up from her bent knee, "It's possible they are untrustworthy but it's possible they are truly here to help the great cause."

Sansa felt a tinge in her chest, the idea of unknown strangers brought more dark thoughts into her mind. Memories of rioters, mentions of spies, whispers, gossip that can bring down walls of safety. Sansa held steady as she started walking down the stone staircase. Trying to think of the most graceful lords and ladies, she thought of her family living and dead and used their courage to place one foot after the other. She was in Winterfell, her home, she was not going to let anyone take it away.

"I will be at your side, always. I will protect you should these men bring rabble to our door." Brienne said with pride, "I'll slay them all if they are false and if they stand with our enemies."

Sansa smiled for a moment and then let it fade. Steel was her face. Steel was her skin. She turned to Brienne and laid a hand on her arm. Sansa gave her a nod, Brienne nodded back. Insurance in Sansa's mind, treading over Brienne's oath in a single measure.

Sansa turned to the rest of the staircase, as they reached the bottom she spoke, "I know you will protect me as you promised. My mother would be very proud to know you were still here, serving her." Sansa said as she turned into the corridor. She walked through stone archways, alit by mounted torches and adorned with direwolf tapestries of silver and grey. She knew Brienne was true to her word but only one man has ever saved her from a mob. She remembered the first man gutted in front of her, breaking the fond ideas of knightdom, setting in a different perspective. She remembered her persuasive want to remember the songs with happiness and how presently just reading the lines and stanzas to which made her heart ache. As she reached the great hall, she could see the Stark bannermen around the hall. More than usual. Jon was waiting near the entrance and saw her arriving. He walked up to Sansa and greeted her.

"It's quite a lot of people, no one can identify or presume to know their allegiances." Jon spoke softly as if it was tender information, "You don't have to go in there if you don't want to, I'd rather you didn't actually."

Sansa felt Jon's hand on her elbow, he was insisting. Sansa knew of her enemies, she knew they were relentless and utterly despicable. She knew someday they would send assassins as they once did for Bran, she knew they would someday want revenge for a crime she never committed. A crime she may had not have helped knowingly but desired greatly. Sansa looked at Jon, his expression was of worry but he was always worried. She has told him of what she knew of their enemies. It was heavy and although she held on to it for so long, she never knew it was almost too much for another to carry.

"We cannot show weakness now. We only just conquered and reclaimed our home. We can't act like we are without." Sansa spoke true, Winterfell must stand strong to look strong in the face of the realm.

At least, that was the mummer's act Sansa needed to perform for all the realm. She was to them a hapless poisoner, a tool used by others. Sansa wished to break those invisible shackles, those falsities bestowed on her by users. By men, mostly.

Jon looked away and said, "Okay. If anyone is here for you, stay behind me and Brienne will take you to safety."

They all turned and entered the hall formally. Sansa sat in a large wooden chair on the right side of the table, Jon sat on the left. Brienne stood tall behind her, Podrick Payne just behind Brienne. _Safety, what did my brother know of safety. He lived around criminals, tip toeing around as I did. At least he knew what they were._

As Sansa looked around the room, she saw many northman gripping their pommels and hilts. She saw disheveled men equipped with mismatching armor and old swords. A few of the visitors had smithy aprons on under their crudely hammered chest plates, a few were using farming hoes and mauls. Sansa truly wondered if anyone was even remotely associated with a highborn family like the Lannisters. As she was trying to scan the back of the room, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Brienne lowered and whispered into her ear, "A man in the back, he is big and I think I recognize him."

Sansa could hear a change in the room, shifting, some whispering to one another. Podrick shuffled closer to Brienne and Sansa and also conferred a whisper, "It's him. It's the Hound. He was with Arya last, my lady."

Sansa's eyes widened and as she saw a few men come forward she remembered where she was and that her face was to be steel. She calmed her expression and saw ghosts of the past reappear. The first of the men was heavily cloaked, he wore an eye patch and had a thick, rough beard. It took a moment of Sansa deciphering his face but she would remember him as Ser Beric Dondarrion, a knight of King's Landing charged with running down the Mountain. The second man had wild hair, pulled into a bun on the top of his head. His clothing was oddly red in color, Sansa knew him as Thoros of Myr. He too had the same mission, as charged by her late father and former hand of the King, Eddard Stark. She remembered that day as she stood in the galley, watching her father struggle with his broken leg. The last man, Sansa did not need to guess. She simply was surveying him as if it were a damaged castle. A man with a reputation, a bad reputation. The realm would know him as the Hound, the late King Joffrey's dog, and now as a craven traitor. Sansa knew better than the realm, she knew him front and back like a piece of fine needle point. A design on one side, a tangle of connections on the other.

Sansa thought of the last time she actually saw him and not of the last time she dreamt of him. He was drunk, covered in blood and dirt, smelling burnt and of wine. It took many years before Sansa really knew what Sandor Clegane was trying to tell her, she wished her intelligence was ten fold when she was younger, so many paths not taken out of fear and naivety. As Sansa looked on, she saw he had changed. His hood was up, he was in a dirty cloak, simple clothes that draped and hid his defined muscles. He stood with his large shadow but he looked more peaceful like a tree rather than a skulking killer animal. Sansa wondered if her prayers to the Mother had been answered.

"Speak, what is your business here in Winterfell?" Jon let his voice bound off the walls, "We are not here to entertain the like of abandoners, murderers, or traitors to their houses."

Ser Beric stepped forward and cleared his throat, he spoke eloquently, "My lord, King in the North, Jon Snow. We are here for the great cause. The great war, the war for the dawn. We know of it's coming, we know of what will happen should the realm of men fall to the Others. Those who would bring a darkness and cold to extinguish our way of life forever."

"We are here because we know what you plan." Thoros of Myr pipped up, adding to the speech.

"And I am to believe that is what you're all here to do. To become apart of the regiment of men here, to fight them. Why not go to the Wall, the first line of defence against the White Walkers. Why come here." Jon fired back, "If the war is as important and as big as you say, why come here when the Brothers in Black will be the front line of the war to come."

Sansa sat still, she felt stiff as she never knew Jon to be so demanding of strangers. She guessed it was Jon's way of protecting her, to protect Winterfell. He was after all the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Sansa grasped at her arm, her keepsake still gripping tight to the fabric of her dress. As Ser Beric and Jon sparred their words, she looked on Sandor. Trying to find the right words, remembering all that had happened in King's Landing before and during the battle of Blackwater. Many questions raced through her mind, trying to land on one was impossible. She snapped back as Jon was speaking to her as the Lady of Winterfell.

"My lady," Jon spoke again a bit more directly, "What to do you want to do with them?"

Sansa looked at Jon, she saw his eyes asking for direction. She moved her eyes away from him and back to Ser Beric. She slowly scanned his face, he had seen many battles, there were so many scars than that day in King's Landing. Even the jovial Thoros has seen better days, in fact all the men standing behind them had. All dirty faced, they were all hard and yet believed in a bigger cause. It was in their eyes, seems like all men spoke with their eyes. She looked straight at Sandor, he was staring straight at her. Sansa suddenly felt her heart beat, pounding very loudly in her ears. She was aware of her irregular breathing, she was smitten to his stare.

"Does he scare you, my lady." Brienne whispered behind her, "I could have him excused for you."

Sansa turned her head slightly, taking in the words that dripped in memory. Her mind being taken back to an even earlier time.

"No." Sansa spoke loud enough for the table to hear her, "He does not scare me. None of them do."

She stood up from her chair. The court turned to the Lady of Winterfell. She had made up her mind, there was one thing she wanted more than the safety of Winterfell. Her chest felt clenched but she untied her heavy cloak and let it settle in her chair seat. The court was stunned to silence, the crowd not knowing what was conspiring before them. Sansa turned to Jon, he looked up at her. She was sure he wouldn't understand.

"Jon, may I borrow your sword Longclaw." Sansa spoke.

Jon looked at her for a moment, not sure why a lady would need a sword but stood and pulled it from his sheath. He pulled the sword up and presented it to her as if it were a gift. She let her hand hover over the hilt for a moment as she grasped it. Jon slowly pulled his hands away making sure she had hold of the sword. It was heavier than she thought but Sansa was strong enough to hold it with one hand. She turned the sword point down and turn toward the Brotherhood. She started her way around the table and the crowd responded by moving back. Sansa was a bit surprised, the thought of a lady with no sword experience was going to hurt them. She stood with both her hands on the hilt of Longclaw, as she gave them all a steely look.

"You are Sandor Clegane, are you not. You are the Hound, the dog to the late King Joffrey." Sansa spoke with authority, "Answer me."

Sansa saw something uncharacteristic of the Sandor she knew. He looked away, he was stern and still, he is changed. He clenched his hands erratically, his mouth twitched as he looked back to Sansa, he nodded.

"Aye. I am and was... him." Sandor spoke, almost as if he was admitting to a crime.

"Kneel." Sansa let the word slip past her lips, forced with grace. Dripping with anticipation.

Sandor looked straight at here with endearment and a furrowed brow, dread had set in a small part of his face, a place Sansa saw his tells. He knelt down to one knee, he rested his arm on his thigh. Sansa almost thought him broken as his shoulders were so low they might even crumple into his knees. His head lowered but he continued to look at Sansa, never breaking eye contact. She kept her head as best she could. She turned her body to face him directly, she stared at him with Tully blue eyes. Her head tilting down to better gaze at Sandor.

A silence grew over the court as she stood with Longclaw, the Valyrian blade ominous in its meaning. Jon shifted nervously in his seat as did Brienne, moving her weight from one side to another. He had gripping Oathkeeper, her fingers fanning and clenching like a wave. Sansa lifted her chin and let the point of the sword meet the stone floor.

A blunted sound arose and she spoke, "Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. My father was a killer. My brother is a killer. My sons would be killers someday. So I had better get used to looking at them. You said... You told me."

"Aye, I did." Sandor replied, his eyes fell dull.

Sansa was quiet. Her face had gone sombre, her eyes moved from steel to sad. Her chin slowly lowering down, she pulled herself up again.

"And now, are you without a will?" she asked boldly, "What say you of the oaths of men now? Are there no true knights left."

Sandor settling into his weight, straightened his back to look at her more properly. He was examining her face, breaking down her words. Sansa gripped the hilt of the sword, her neutral mouth bent down. She was frowning. She wanted very much for Sandor to understand her meaning, her plan. Sansa didn't just make up her mind just then in the hall, nor did she in the Eyrie, she had known since King's Landing. Since Blackwater. She denied herself of the truth for so long but here she was finally able to make it real. It acknowledged his existence to her and the realm.

"It has been years since I was saved," she went on, "I have spent too much time learning what the killers do, what the liars say, only to protect myself. I am losing my color. Swapping one role for another, Winterfell is the last of my being and I do not wish to lose it to my enemies. I will not stand for it if I do."

Sandor's face changed from worry for himself to concern for Sansa. Doing all she could to hold back tears. Before she could speak again, Sandor placed his axe in between himself and Sansa.

"I've lived with and without my freedom. With and without common people. With and without service and pay." He spoke as gently as he could, "I have been at the giving and receiving end of authority and war. Poverty, starving, travelling with no goal, no idea what to do tomorrow. Above them all, I realize none of it has meaning if you can't choose what you want to do. How you want to live a life. The desire to be something bigger than yourself, gods or not."

The men in the hall were listening intently, their eyes drilling into Sansa and Sandor. She felt their gaze but what was conspiring before her was more important. It took all of her attention, it was easy to ignore the rest.

"I need something to believe in, maybe..." Sandor broke eye contact and turned, "Someone to believe in. A wanting to follow them."

There was a long pause, it hadn't dawned on anyone in the court that perhaps one of the most feared warriors of the former King would have any relationship with the Lady of Winterfell. There were many shocked faces throughout the crowd, Ser Beric and Brienne among them. Sandor exhaled loudly, he turned his head slowly back to Sansa's gaze.

"I won't live forever," Sandor relieved for a moment, "But for the time left I pledge my life to you. I will shield you and protect you from all the world's harm. Council you if you wish it. From this day, to my very last day. As I said before, through all stipulations. Wherever you are, whoever is privileged to call you their Queen, I will be there in your shadow."

Sansa blinked a few tears, she smiled sweetly and pulled Longclaw's tip to tap Sandor on his broad shoulder. She spoke through her emotions, "I vow you will always have a place in my home and at my table. I will ask you of no service that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Sansa in a brief moment of courage, forgot her courtesies and stepped forward to kiss Sandor on his cheek. Chaste and quick, the light that filled the stone hall brightened and warmed the air or so it felt as Sansa could hear Sandor breathing deeply when her face was near his.

She stepped back and spoke, "Rise, a knight of Winterfell."

Sandor stood up, his power and presence somehow restored to him. Sansa thought he was no longer the Hound, a shade of himself but his true self. A man who chooses his destiny, just as Sansa choose hers. It was a gamble to knight a non-knight knowing the history between herself and Sandor. It was all a hope she created when her eyes met his, a feeling she hadn't had in a long time. The creation of dreams and hope, Sansa's heart felt mended. The knight she needed was with her, now and forever.

 


	2. Sandor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is fitted with new clothes and armor, he is gifted with a new cloak by his liege Lady Sansa.

A dark haired squire was threading the eyelets of a newly refitted leather jerkin, it was in the fashion of the kind of armor Stark men wear. It was faceted with plates of iron between layers of leather, studded, threaded on the sides and front. This particular one was being fitted for Sandor Clegane. The squire fumbling around him was Podrick Payne, trying not to breaking the leather laces as he adjusted the tension accordingly. It had been a week since that fateful reunion between himself and the little bird. Sandor held on the nickname he gave Sansa Stark, a name that no longer bares meaning as she no longer sang the songs of others. He stood blank faced, he was taking far too long. Sandor saw Pod having trouble adjusting the strings and bemoaned his struggles.

"Are you nervous around me." Sandor inquired, "I can do the rest, you can take your leave of me."

Podrick was a bit surprised to hear him speak. He continued on and replied, "It's fine, my lord. I have to learn sometime."

"Don't." Sandor said in annoyance, "Don't call me a lord."

"Would you prefer the Hound?" Podrick asked.

"No. Just Sandor is fine."

Podrick nodded and finished with the last string. He was about to fasten the vest front when Sandor physically bade him to stop.

"I can dress myself without you." Podrick nodded and smiled meekly and made his quick exit. Sandor laced up the front. It certainly was a change, he was used to his sooty grey armor, the chainmail, the weight of steel and two swords. Sandor sighed as he looked down for the first time after lacing the front. It felt different but it was flattering, also freeing as he felt more movement in his shoulders. He pulled on his cloak, it was the same one he travelled the King's road to Winterfell with and stepped out of the armory. Winterfell was moving, many people turning the gears of the castle. Everyone with a role, prepping or repairing the castle. The people stirred but their energy could not make the air warm, it was winter and it continued to remind everyone every minute they remained outside. There were many fires around, keeping hands functional.

Sandor walked briskly through the yard, his boots crunching under frost and snow. Men got out of his way, something he was familiar with. He made his way into the back entrance of the castle and made his way down a protected archway, it led into the Godswood. The Stark family still had a hulking white tree, a face carved into the side, weeping red sap; it looked like blood. In front of the tree lay a small black pond, black only for the rocks underneath were black, and a large flat boulder. Upon it's crest was the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark. She was watching the snow fall on the blood red leaves of the Godswood tree. Each of her breaths spilling out of her nose, creating puffs of smoke that spiralled for a mere moment before disappearing. Next to her was Brienne, another knight that came into her service. She looked all the kinds of proper Sansa dreamed about. Perhaps Brienne was the knight she was yearning for, deserved actually.

"My Lady." Sandor spoke up, he stopped just near enough Sansa and Brienne. He stood tall, newly fitted in Northern armour as ordered by the Lady. Brienne looked at him, she was emotionless. It was not her reaction Sandor cared for anyways.

"And your swords?" Sansa inquired as she looked him up and down like a fine painting. She stood up from the boulder, all the snow that gathered on the end of her cloak whipped into the air. She looked a bit like magic.

"They are working on a long sword for myself though I am welcome to any of the castle forged swords in the meantime." Sandor coolly replied, "I can wait for a better sword."

Sansa's eyes were the same as they were in the presence of others. Sandor knew her real eyes, the way they slope down to show her thoughtful contemplation. How they narrowed when she was angry. How the clarity reflected her true feelings. They were dutiful and shielded in the presence of her protector Brienne. Sandor had studied them profusely in King's Landing, subconsciously perhaps but when he closed his eyes he could see the blue reflected back at him. It was a comforting color.

"Brienne, you may take your leave for the day. I'm sure my brother will need your council tonight." Sansa said with the delivery of a proper lady, strict in tone but still soft.

Brienne bowed to Sansa and nodded at Sandor as she strode past him. She left through the same entrance Sandor has entered though he didn't move to watch her leave. He stayed unmoving, staring at Sansa. Waiting for an order, unknowing what else to do but to watch her. She moved toward him, frozen in his own way he stayed as still as a statue. She touched his chest and pulled at his cloak and examined it. She turned the edge like a page in a book and exhaled. Opaque air swirled in the tiny space between them, she looked up the edge of his cloak up towards his face. Sandor still fixated on her person, continued to stare at her face. Anything otherwise might be seen untoward, he especially did not want to scare her now. Not with her so close.

"Follow me to my chamber. I have something for you." Sansa let go of his cloak and walked toward the other end of the woods. There was another archway, a stairway to the keep of the castle. Sandor beckoned his legs to move. _Your lady has spoken._ He bid, he shuffled and stepped lightly as he could behind her. She picked up her skirts, they were many and layered. Sandor made sure to keep a few more pacing behind her as she struggled up the icy stone steps. He kept on hand on the wall and the other ready to catch her should she slip. Even in a cumbersome movement, to keep her footing, she moved gracefully as a great lady would. It still surprised Sandor that she could be so lady like after all that had happened since he left her in the capital. It still angered Sandor to his core.

The stairs led to a door and into the keep, she led him down the hall. Sansa looked back periodically, she was making sure he knew where she was taking him. This wasn't the Red Keep, he didn't know the secret cracks to which to slip away and hide. He didn't know everyone's spy though he didn't need to here. It seemed as if everyone was too busy dealing with their cold to want to be a spy. They arrived in front of a large wooden door, adorned with iron ribbing and bolts. She pushed the handle and walked in, Sandor reluctantly followed. Inside was a large room, the bedroom and solar as one. It had windows all along one side, a large mantle and fireplace adjacent to it. The bed was far too large for one person. The chamber was formally for the Warden of the North, he mother and father's room. Although she was the Lady of Winterfell, her brother was the King and passed the room for his old one. Sansa however, did not wish to return to her old room. A short rumour circled the stables after they had taken Winterfell, she had the banners of the former burned. She had the featherbeds of the former burned. She had their beds burned. The only thing that remained were the three large dogs, all of which she renamed and kept caged.

Sandor had been spending his time listening to any and all around him. He spent most of his time eavesdropping into the lives of others. Table gossip, what they said during meals and while they drank into the night. Sitting by the fire and hearing what the men saw, waiting around open stable doors to hear the stable hands having a laugh but among all the people said, he would not know why Sansa Stark was inviting him to her chamber. Last time he recalled he was in her chamber, it was without her permission.

Sansa picked up something from the table near the bank of windows, she brought it close to Sandor who stopped short of entering the room and simply stayed near the door. Sansa had a long, dark green cloak, trimmed with a collar of wolf skin. The cross straps were broad and in the centre was three dog heads that would lay in the middle of the chest. Sansa was presenting it to Sandor, he wore a face of confusion.

"I saw the cloak you arrived with, it's not going to keep you warm from the winds of winter." Sansa blushed, "I thought you would need something better, worthy of your station."

Sandor felt a bead of sweat forming near his temple, detaching and rolling down the side of his face. It trailed so close to his ear, it tickled and irritated his concentration. In his time in this world, he cannot remember the last time anyone gave him anything. Perhaps his father when he was a young boy but a gift from the fairest maiden in the North, Sandor was a bundle of nerves jolting and making his ear ring.

"I..." Sandor hitched, he was at a loss for words.

"It's not my favour or anything... I wish you good health in my home... During the long winter, I..." Sansa trailed off, "I guess that makes the gesture out of utility and not one for the heart. It is not what I meant."

Sansa stared at the cloak in her hands. Sandor realized the meaning of her gesture, she wanted to be close. She wants to be her sweet self in her own home, even if the task is unfamiliar to what she knows it is only heartened by her meaning. He was unfamiliar to her now, he was not a harsh animal anymore. Sandor untied his cloak and let it fall to the floor. Sansa's shoulders jumped back as he took the cloak from her arms. He swung it over his shoulders and adjusted the collar of fur. He pulled the cross straps of the cloak over his chest and behind his waist. He didn't need help to tie the back in. It was a very fine cloak Sansa had lovingly constructed.

"Oh." Sansa exclaimed as she raised one of her hands and rested the tips on her chin, "I'm glad I made your measurements. It fits you very well."

The cloak was the right length, long and large enough to sweep the floor just a few inches. The wolf skin was large enough to cover his shoulders, the tail just falling to the right of his dog head crest. It was considerably warmer than the rags he came by in his travels with the Brotherhood. Sandor stood proudly in his cloak before Sansa, she smiled letting her eyes glass with a warmth. She straighten the opening of his cloak, letting her hands lightly pull down on the seems. He felt her knuckles just rap past the ridges of his leather jerkin, the small plates and bolts be damned to muffle the feeling of her hands examining her own work. Sandor was breathless, he could smell her hair and it reminded him of summer. The particular pangs of summer roses in the colors of love; pink, white, red, and orange. There was nothing icy about Sansa or at least there shouldn't have to be. Sandor mesmerized by her scent, found his eyelids heavier than before. He had to shake himself awake.

"It's a fine cloak and, thank you." Sandor said abruptly, not knowing how else to end the awkward tones of their mannerisms. He bowed and took a breath, turned on his heel to leave her chambers. Just as he exited the door, he felt like water spilling over and mulling over riverbed rocks. The bundle of nerves tighter than before, it must've taken all his being just to break away from summer.

"I will send someone to come for my former cloak." Sandor said over his shoulder, "I'm sure it will be Podrick, my lady."

"Sansa," she quickly replied, "You may call me by my name."

Sandor stood for a moment, she was doing too much. Her presence alone rung his soul, reminding him he has a soul left. Vibrating through him, down into the hollows of his bones. Head to toe, he adored her as much as a garden needs sun and yet his sceptical mind kept his being at an arms length of anything of grand emotion. His moment was a few seconds too long, he nodded and quickly made for the turn, through an archway, up towards the battlements, away from his grace.

Sandor did not look back, not because he hadn't thought of the romanticism of what is left behind but because he feared she might still be looking at him with those warm eyes. Smiling at him, curved into unworldly happiness. He made for the top of the battlements and looked out at the vast North. He was looking Southward, the snow had made it difficult to see the furthest forest of Winterfell. The river a line of off white, singed with blue, and the mountains dusted with ice and engulfed in layers of snow. The ridges of the land making peaks and valleys of faint shadows. Sandor was not used to seeing this kind of bleakness. He thought of the rocky riverlands, the Southron fields of green and gold, spotted with the tall trees speckled with fruit and flowers. It was the first time he had thought of the South with nostalgia and yet all those memories of home did not comfort him. None of those memories could make him stray from his life in Winterfell. His heart was just coming back, to live with purpose in the heart of winter.

"It's a little depressing is it now?" the voice of Beric Dondarrion emerged from no where behind Sandor, "That all used to be green and now all that is green are the conifers along the South ridge. Well, if they can stand the winter."

Beric stood a foot below Sandor's height, he walked up beside him and stared out into the white out. He was dressed in warmer clothes, most likely borrowed from the castle keep. His sword still at his side, Sandor recalled he was in the armoury this morning waiting for it to be sharpened and buffed. Cleaned, ready for the next battle. The great battle. Beric had all the makings of a legendary knight and yet he threw it all away to be the head of a band of brothers. As Sandor walked through that string of thoughts, he wondering if it really was throwing his life away or simply choosing freedom, causality of knowing the consequence of blind faith.

"It's beautiful." Sandor curtly replied. There was no way around the obvious, why lie with small talk or sharpen a cutting reply. It was only the two of them standing on the edge of the castle.

Beric raised his good eye brow along with his eye patch in surprise at his reply. "Perhaps you are right, there is beauty in the misery of weather."

"Did you come looking for me or are you here to die again?" Sandor sniffed, the winds numbing his nose.

"Nay, Lord Snow would like all minds on the strategy table. Come." Beric bade him, he waved him over as he made he way down the stairs to the library.

Sandor followed and as he descended the first step he took one last look at the land and sky. The noise was like nothing he had ever heard before, high sharp shrills and shriek of winds scraping across the walls and whistling through holes. Snow dancing in the sky, gliding across the tops of stone peaks. Pulling his cloak closed, Sandor realized his fingers started to numb and he started down the stairs.

 


	3. Sansa II / Sandor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits the crypt of Winterfell to see an old friend but falls into a fever. Sandor accompanies her and completely misses her illness and takes his failure out on the trees of the North.

The flurries outside Sansa's window lightly bounced off the glass in the early morning, they had not let up since the Brotherhood Without Banners came to Winterfell some month ago. All of them pledging their service to her brother Jon, he was used to the notion of any men of any background taking an oath. He was a man of the Night's Watch and did the same for a different castle and a different cause. One that almost led to his death doing the honourable and right thing, something their father would approve. Sansa woke to a chill, the fire had died down in her room and although the air was slightly warmed by the hot spring air below she still left the knife of winter creep into her bed clothes.

It gave Sansa the shivers, she still slept poorly even though she had been truly home for some time. She still took to bed late at night, reading or sewing, pushing and pulling her attention to something in her hands. Sansa sat upright in her bed of furs and blankets. She petted the skins, some were soft while others were less so. She become fond of a patch of white fur on what was the back of a goat. It reminded her of Lady. She would stroke the hair gently, set her hand into the fur until she left a small impression of her hand. Sansa examined the impression for a while until a strong wind took her eyes, the glass rattled and the wind howled. It almost sounded mournful, she thought of Lady and remembered that she lay in the crypt.

Sansa gathered herself and started her morning routine. She washed her face with a soft cloth and brushed her hair. She braided a length of white ribbon into her hair, it meandered through her apple red hair like a rapid river. It was darkening as their was less sunlight to turn it strawberry and the tones of summer. She pulled on her favoured green velvet dress, her cloak, and a pair of black gloves to match her black boots. Today she would go below and visit the relatives of the past, she would walk through the damp coldness to find Lady. Sansa grabbed a cloth and wrapped a small candle, a small bundle of young evergreen tips, and a few strips of rabbit from her breakfast and made for the yard.

Bustling still, they were working hard to rebuild the broken watch tower. A task that bothered Jon, a night previous he made clear how it will not be remembered for a place that crippled Bran but a tower with purpose. Should the war ascend onto the North from the Wall, Jon wanted to be prepared. Sansa agreed, she also found ominous feelings since Bran's fall. She disliked it before but more so after the tragedy. Men were moving by two with wood boards, stones, pails of water and dirt. Reinforcing the bottom and the cracked walls, many of the smiths had to make the materials in the warmth of the stables and run it to the tower before it froze.

Sansa maneuvered carefully around the workers, all who greeted her amiably. Waving, some tipped their hats and heads as she passed them, Sansa answered back with short head nods and half curtsies but she never smiled happily. She replied kindly but never favoured anyone's greeting. She finally made it across the yard and opened the door to the crypt, she went down into the darkness.

The stone stairs down to the crypt were icy but Sansa was surefooted of where she was going, as she descended there was a growing light from below. As she made it to the ground floor, there had been candles lit for the tombs of Winterfell. She looked around and saw many was for her father, a few for her mother although her tomb laid empty. A few for the many Stark wardens of the past, even some for Aunt Lyanna. Someone Sansa has never known, there were candles at her feet. Sansa felt a bit shamed, she did not think to bring a candle for her father today. _I brought one when we took Winterfell, it will do for now._ She thought today was not about her parents but for an innocent little soul she unknowing condemned. Her favourite companion, her little love, Lady. Sansa wandered over to a small alcove, there was a small stone statue of a direwolf on top of a squared off tomb. Sansa took out her bundle and unwrapped her gifts, she laid the rabbit strips at the feet of the statue and then the evergreen tips. With the candle she noticed she did not bring a fire to light her candle. Sansa would have to light her candle from another and as she turned there she saw a large shadow. She nearly screamed but she gulped back her voice, she did however drop the candle.

"It was not my intention to scare you." a voice rasped from the dark, "I thought you shouldn't be down here on your own."

Sansa should have known there are not many men that could make a shadow as large as Sandor Clegane. He stood with a lit candle in one hand, the light was small than a lit torch. Sansa knew it was a preferred flame for the man who knew the volatility of fire. Sansa smiled out of relief and she bent to pick up her candle.

"I didn't even hear you come down the stairs." Sansa admitted, "I guess without your steel armour you make even less noise."

"Perhaps." Sandor shuffled closer, cautious in his approach. Sansa saw his actions and welcomed him with a look.

He stood beside her in front of Lady's tomb. Sandor looked around the crypt, alert to shield her from even the ghosts of the past. Sansa lit the wick of her candle from his and let it build a flame. She dripped the wax on to the stone lid and placed the candle end on the small puddle. They both stepped back synchronized to the ceremony of Sansa's prayer.

"Is this your direwolf?" Sandor inquired.

"Yes, this is where they buried Lady." Sansa quivered, "I miss her. She did not deserve me. Her death, it was my fault. I should have left her at home. She would've lived if I did."

There was a silence, Sandor was looking away from Sansa. He sniffed the stale air and was trying to compose himself as Sansa tried to do the same.

"You couldn't have known what he would do." Sandor talking away from her, trying to be comforting, "Who are you to question the crowned prince, he would've tried to hurt you if you did."

Sansa gulped, trying not to shed a single tear. He was right, she could not save Lady. She would've been hurt by Joffrey sooner or later. Someone in their guard, her father further hurt by what Sansa said that night, Arya scared for her direwolf. Sansa was selfish then, she saw it all clearly as every year passes. At least in hope, some of the direwolves lived to see another day. Sansa started to shiver, she sniffled as the air was effecting her. She hadn't noticed it before.

"Come or you'll follow your wolf into the crypt." Sandor turned Sansa around and gently pushed her back to the entrance. He blew out the candle he held and placed it near a stack of crates near the entrance.

Sandor placed a large hand on her shoulder, as they walked up the stony staircase to the yard, it moved from her shoulder to her back. Just brushing the middle of her back, he was bracing her incase she slipped. Even from just a touch, the heat from his hand was hot. It permeated through her cloak, just kissing her skin. Sansa was a bit teary eyed from what she confessed in front of Lady's tomb was also a bit flush. She couldn't remember the last time she touched anyone other than embracing Jon. How could she not, it had been years since she saw anyone from her family alive. Sansa's mind wandered for a moment until another touch on her shoulder shook her.

"Lady Sansa, are you feeling well?" Brienne strode up after dropping a hay bale. It would seem a cart from House Manderlay sent supplies from their stores. Brienne quizzical look snapped Sansa back from her reverie but her cheeks still felt flush.

"Brienne, I'm fine." Sansa replied meekly, "Perhaps I am a bit ill."

"A fever perhaps, to bed with you. We will call for a maester." Brienne ordering her Lady,  "Ser, can you look for a maester among the brotherhood? There might be a few with short chains but they are among them."

Sandor with a visible look of irritation gruffly sighed and left, he walked briskly in the direction of the great hall. Sansa watched as his figure disappeared into the crowd as she closed her eyes. It was the last thing she remembered for a time.

Like a slippery silk thread, Sansa's mind fell through a pin hole. Cold then hot, ragged breath and her eyelids just at the meniscus of opening but they stayed closed. Her lungs felt rough, air passing through jagged glass and her head hot with fever. She remembered feeling strong arms lifting her, low shouting muffled, heads talking by candle light. Her arms shackled by blankets and furs, holding on until they could bear no more.

Sansa could bear no more burden, in her thoughts of Lady that morning she was taken by illness. She lay in bed most mornings longer than she thought but shrugged it off at the sight of winter. She thought it was the cold that made her slower. She slept deeply dreaming of summer, green grass under her feet, hot sand, sparkling oceans, and a hand warming hers. The palm was thick and tough, the fingers well worked over, she was certain of whose arm this belonged. The smell of fresh earth, polished steel, and red wine lingered through out her dream until a fade to white light. Sansa woke to daylight streaming through a familiar bank of windows, there was a half eaten plate of food on the table. The chairs moved, she was in her bed and her night gown.

Just a dream of summer, winter is still here. She thought reluctantly but what scared her most was waking alone. No warmth near her, around her, the fire place crackled but she was without a held dream in her heart. Sansa felt alone even though she was in her home. Her face still felt hot and then hotter as a stream fell from her cheek to her lap. Sansa collapsed and cried quietly into her pillow.

 

+++++

 

The smithy that travelled in the Brotherhood was formerly the blacksmith of Moat Caitlin. He was used to forging armor and weapons but none would have the kind of ornamentation of those South of the Riverlands. Even the basic swords of the Vale would be more artful than those this former Smithy of Most Caitlin created. Simple but strong.

It was all he could do to not think of Sansa and how her knees buckled underneath her as she feel into the soiled mud of the yard. He remembered being slighted before he parted her presence only to turn around the same instant to see her being carried away by her first knight Brienne. Sandor quickly strode back only to hear he still must find that maester. Brienne turned away, fully and in her pride and prestige took Sansa to her chamber. Shinny and bright in the dankness of the yard, looking every bit the knight in the songs Sansa loved as a young girl. Sandor was in awe and yet his heart felt squeezed, he stood there cloaked in her thoughtfulness and was not the one to save her. He didn't even notice her ailment in the crypt, a play at the light? Blaming himself felt like old work, a well worn road he walked often in his mind.

Sandor remembered turning to the library, there was an older gentlemen that travelled with the Brotherhood who claimed to have been a maester. Kallen he remembered, as he made a brisk walk to the library that morning he saw Podrick speaking to the old man. It would seem the squire knew of the old man and made it here before Sandor. The two men were at the other end of the library and before Sandor could contribute Podrick had Kallen standing and making for Sansa's chambers in the keep of Winterfell.

Sandor stood at the doorway of the armoury for a long moment, washing over his failures. Gritting his teeth, balling his fists nearly cutting the insides of his palms. The smithy called to Sandor and he handed him his new blade. Simple and deadly, the only features he needed of a weapon. Sandor strapped the belt on, it had been a long time since he was armed. He shifted his jerkin to find a comfortable position, he looked at the hilt and practiced putting his hand on the hilt. Trying to reform the memory his muscles once had so many years ago.

"That squire is not to be underestimated." a voice wavering between jest and assurance of character, Jon clad in his black cloak pulled up by Sandor and crossed his arms in the warmth of the layers.

"Aye." Sandor hand no other words, he hadn't even looked directly at Jon but continued his stares at his sword hilt.

"You can help my sister in other ways. We are running low on firewood and there might be another cart incoming from the East." Jon leaned up against the anvil, "I still need your help while Brienne cares for Sansa."

Sandor finally tearing his gaze and looked directly at Jon, his face emotionless but his mind raced. The knots in his brow harder than before, he examined Jon's friendly demeanor. Had he made Sandor in a single gaze.

"We shouldn't risk a horse in this wind but I can chop all the trees you need." Sandor replied brusquely, letting the rasp settle in the back of his throat. He was trying to be more proper, for the sake that this was the King of the North and her kin.

Jon half smiled, surprised to hear Sandor agree to a simple task that most of the men did not want to do. It was cold, very cold and the wind had certainly picked up more than they had wanted. There were delays to fixing the watch tower and the men were staying in the castle for warmth. More men inside meant the supply of heating them was running low, eventually they would have to make for the treeline and come back. Sandor was all too familiar with chopping wood, it focused him beyond anything else in the known realm. Jon and Sandor made for the stables where there was a large hand cart and axe waiting. There were men waiting there but Sandor said they could stay behind. The men looked weary and almost relieved to stay indoors. He told them he can make the trip on his own. Taken a back, Jon handed him a skin of warm mead. Sandor strung the skin inside his leather jerkin to keep it warm.

The doors of Winterfell opened and for the next few days a man left with a hand cart empty and returned with it overfilled with wood. The stacks were growing and the wall nearest the armour and stables were beginning to be blanketed in logs of wood, tree bark and evergreen leaves, and slats when Sandor managed to split a log. He would make for the Southern treeline and chop down tree after tree after tree. The monotonous motion of chopping a tree down, cleaning it's body, chopping the log and then into smaller splinters was meditation and it cleared Sandor of pesky ideas and emotion. On the fifth day, Podrick followed Sandor to his chagrin. His presence was annoying as he found so many ways to interrupt him. Questions and queries, chopping slower and then faster than Sandor. He had to start and stop his routine to help the squire. It bothered him that he was so willing to help but knew more than he lead on. Sandor was frustrated and yet he saw a man trying.

"How did you know of Kallen?" Sandor broke the ice, "Have you spoken with many people from the Brotherhood?"

Podrick was all too happy to reply, "Well, I noticed his chain and decided to ask him in the great hall. He was more than happy to tell me his time at the citadel. He even pointed to his chain and described each link. It was quite fascinating, really."

Sandor was quiet, he hadn't even known what the man had studied. He was trying to decipher the links from afar. All that time wasted if he had been more polite. Less a dog.

"You talk to everyone, anyone," Sandor grunting as he moved logs on to the cart, "Are you naturally well spoken or did you learn it from someone?"

Podrick was moving logs at the same time replied between breaths, "Well, kind of my lord. I was the squire to the former hand of the king. And, well, he was great at conversation."

"Don't do that." Sandor bemoaned between throws, "Don't call me a lord."

"Ah, right." Podrick inhaled sharply, "Right. I think I remember hearing something like that while in King's Landing. Not a ser."

"Not a ser." Sandor agreeing as they threw the last of the wood.

The cart was half full but there was still daylight left. Sandor ordered Podrick to take the cart to the castle, he tried to negotiate for more wood but Sandor refused. The squire was a foot or more shorter than Sandor, strong but not strong enough to take a full cart on a summer day. It was winter and the ground solid ice, covered in snow. There might have been worn tracks from Sandor pulling the cart to and from the castle but they were lightly filling with snow flakes. Podrick went on his way, Sandor watched a for moment as the man slowly disappeared into a small dot on the horizon.

In truth, Sandor just wanted to be left alone. He had a troubling time sorting his thoughts with people around, now to add on the pile are whispers of his character behind his back. Although a whisper from the past, it was still jarring to hear in the middle of the North landscape. Trivial but it bore a small hole into Sandor's thoughts. He walked back to the trees, there were a row of stumps where Sandor had been chopping trees. Each stump lightly covered in snow, the thickest of the stumps denoting when he slayed them. He stared at the trees, leafless and quiet. No leaves to make noise, no leaves to worry about. Sandor almost felt jealous of the bare trees, they had more uses than he at the moment but bared all their freedoms in rudimentary ideas. Grow, flower, fruit, shed the growth, start over in the spring.  _But not for this tree._ Sandor threw the axe head into the tree base, he could also boil down his actions into rudimentary ideas. Swing, chop, pull, swing, chop, pull, and then push the tree down. It came down as slowly as it could, erupting in a tunnel of snow flying upwards making a white fog around the fallen tree.

Perhaps the fallen tree and Sandor had the most in common. Sandor felt a ping of pity as he steadied his axe over a large branch and just as he brought his arms above his head he saw that dot reappear. Podrick was running out to the treeline, puffing and struggling with his heavy cloak. Red on his cheeks he stopped in front of Sandor who's arms were still sprung high.

"My lor-, er..." Podrick gasping as he was still catching his breath, "The Lady of Winterfell is awake. She was asking for you. Maybe I could-"

Sandor pulled his arms down and dropped the axe into the body of the tree. He walked past Podrick and started walking toward the castle.

"Should I keep chopping?" Podrick yelled back at him.

"Sure." Sandor was not sure if he should stay out there by himself but he did not care.

The crunch under his soles, he was placing each foot in front of another with purpose. He liked that feeling very much, purpose drove him to think about living for the future and not for the present. Sandor clutched his sword hilt from nervousness, the feeling of failure had been replaced with a similarly squeezing of his heart. It was an unknown chasm, not knowing how he felt about his summons. He let it ride out though his being, so long as he could appear as proper as a knight it was a burden he would bear.

He was at the gate, it was open as the men were still emptying the hand cart of chopped wood. Many greeted Sandor but he kept walking past them, turning and side stepping men in his way but still straight for the keep at the back of the castle. He made it to the great hall where many were sitting at the tables, various projects keeping them busy but none of which took any of Sandor's attention. He continued to walk past them, down a corridor and up a staircase to the chambers of Lady Sansa.

At the door, he saw Brienne exiting. They looked at each other, Brienne froze with the door half opened. Sandor climbed the last few steps and stood in front of Brienne. She was tall, just a few inches shy of himself. She gleamed in her armour still, an unconscious slight to a man that is not a ser.

"Does she sleep?" Sandor rasped, "I can come back."

Brienne was soundless and before she could answer and close the door there was a rustle from the room. "Please come in Sandor."

They stared at each other like animals claiming territory only a higher calling could break them away before another clash of heads reigned. Words, knowing them and as Sansa commanding weakly she spoke again, "You may leave us Brienne."

Sandor pushed through the door and looked at the bed where Sansa lay. He felt Brienne's eyes work over his back as she closed the door. A set of solid footsteps fading, they were alone. He stood still for a moment before deciding on a movement, he stepped to the side of the bed where she lay and kneeled. His hands on his knee, he lowered his head.

"Forgive me for not noticing your pain." Sandor quietly rasped, his head so low he didn't even look at her.

For a moment he was in a corner of his mind, trying to keep calm and stay in control of himself. Surely she was not mad at him but why else would she call him. He was regretful for frightening her, regret for many things. He heard a rustle and a hand sweeping his hair from his face. Sandor was jolted and he looked up at her, she was caressing his face with her hand, her slender hand.

"I'm not mad, I was worried you would think this your fault. I was right to worry." Sansa tunefully replied, "You think the worst of yourself, don't worry what I think. Especially when it is about you."

Her words ringing in his ears, she thought of him and thought highly of him. Sandor was surprised and hitched a breath, he had no words for her for the moment was perfection. He wanted to stay with her touching his face, even when she was sick she smelled sweet. Her hair was messy, her curls tumbling down her shoulders and sprawled out across her pillow. Her face was flush but her lips were less rosy than usual, still sickly and without color. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and neck, she was still a bit feverish but she was well enough to read. A few books piled by her bedside, it was all she could do until the illness passed.

Sandor touched her hands and pulled them for his face, a notion he hated but was necessary. He stood and bowed, he was taking his leave not wanting to again. At least he could discern that she cared about him enough to think of his well-being. Sansa's face dropped, she was not happy he stood.

"Don't leave." She pleaded, "I don't want you to leave, Sandor."

He was confused, want else could he be to her.What else could he do for her other than slay her enemies, he couldn't slay her sickness. She sat up in her bed and grabbed for his hand. Her eyes were tired but her pleas were genuine, she looked at him with a hopeful face. Her hands clasped on his, her thumb petting the outside of his hand. He squeeze her hand in reply and let go. He turned to the table and picked up a chair, he set it beside her bed. He let his hands rest on the back of the chair for a second, thinking in his mind what to do next. He untied his cloak, soaked from the snow and hung it on the back of the chair. He sat down facing Sansa, she watched him through all these motions and she smiled as he sat with her. She scooted closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, he hovered there not sure what was acceptable for him to do. His massive arms in mid air, he frantically looked at one arm and then the other. He slowly placed one arm on her back and then the other on her waist, squeezing her gently while wide eyed. She sighed into his chest, just under his chin. He looked forward, not sure of the next part. He held her until she fell asleep in his arms, a sleeper's breath, a rhythm unmistakable to anyone. He tucked her back into the bed and continued to sit. At least it was warm in her room, he laid his hands palms up on his legs and stared longingly at them. Deeply scarred, rough, dry skin, she accepted them as they were.

Sandor relaxed his arms and turned towards the window, he sighed regretful that he placed her back in her bed. Looking away was all he could do until he fell asleep himself, days of chopping and splitting wood had finally settled an ache in his body.

 


	4. Sansa III / Sandor III / Sansa IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor have an encounter that beautifully haunts them both.

A black stallion was galloping along the ridge of a long hill, it was big and strong and shone in the sun beams of day. Sansa was in a summer gown, light rose silk with saffron coloured crystals sewn into paisleys across the bodice. She walked up the hill as the stallion stalled on the top of the hill. The closer she walked towards the brilliant beast, it became calmer. Almost tame. She reached out to touch it and it shook its mane, shook its head. Looking every way but at her, Sansa spoke and the horse looked directly at her. Grey eyes, scars bleeding out of its face. She said his name again.

"Sandor." Sansa murmured as she woke in her bed. She shook her head and sat up quickly, there was still a stallion in the room. She blinked hard, a man in a chair dozing in front of her. It was her scarred knight, he hadn't left her and she did not give him leave before falling asleep. It was night and the glimmering window glass was now a blank dark blue. The fire had become low, the flickers of orange and red small against Sandor's arm and face. Sansa was glad he did not wake to her sleep speech, not knowing what a lady would say to a revelation as such.

She pulled forward enough to touch his knee, she shook it and Sandor rose from his slumber. A bit off put, he looked around quickly and then to what roused him. His half lid eyes met hers, they opened awake. Sansa's eyes formed smiling half moons, she let her hand slide off his knee as she pulled herself out of bed. She felt better, her sleep was peaceful for once and was not interrupted by dark thoughts. She did not feel it was on the surface in the guise of good rest. Maybe her good rest was made knowing Sandor was near enough to protect her, in her mind his presence made real had reinforced her strength to stand.

"What are you doing, you shouldn't get up." Sandor halted her with a hand to her stomach, she stopped short of connection and stepped into his hand. She cupped his hand to her body.

"I swear I am feeling better, I just want to put a few logs on the fire before it goes out." Sansa sweetly smiled, the warmth of his hand felt hotter than a moment ago.

Sandor stood and peeled his hand away from her. She watched him saunter over to the fireplace, crouched down and place another log on the fire. He picked up a fire iron and poked at the embers, the fire rose large again bathing the room in light. Sansa walked over to the table and lit the candles. She looked back at Sandor who was tending the fire. His form was huge even in front of an abnormally large fireplace. He stood and looked at Sansa, she drank in his eyes. Glinting from the fire, a warm grey, not so steely as before.

"I might dislike fire but I don't dislike the heat especially here." Sandor quipped as he looked away, he picked up his cloak from the back of the chair. Now dry, he turned to leave but paused close to the door, "Is there anything else you bid me do? Errands, orders, what have you."

Sansa breathed in sharply, she carefully walked towards Sandor and found his arm. He nearly flinched when she touched him, she turned him around. She was the master, he would do as she bid him, asked of him.

"I've not slept in years." Sansa exasperated, "At least, that's how it's felt. Never comfortable anywhere, barely comfortable here in my own home. With you here, I've never had such sweet dreams. I've never felt more rested. Gods be true, I prayed for you to live. To be quelled of your anger. I don't know if they were answered but I would have accepted you as you were before just as I do now."

Sandor was still, his eyes forward and as he closed them he let the back of his head meet the door in disbelief. He cracked a quiet guffaw as a half grin flashed and faded into his broken face. Broken up by the man he is and the man he was forced to be. Sansa knew his proclivity to fall back to his burned side, harsh and cruel. He sighed and gathered her hands in his, draping them on his broad chest. He smoothed out her fingers and ran his fingers down the backs of her hands and down her arms. His hands crept past her elbows, searching for a place to land. He moved seamlessly to her back pressing her close to him. She never broke gaze with Sandor but hitched a moan as he swiftly pressed his forehead against hers. As close as they were before, this was the closest they had been since Blackwater. She was heady, he never moved to kiss her but she wanted him to. Instead he nuzzled his face against her cheek, travelling down to her jaw and down to her neck. Sansa moaned, it was a sensation she was not used to. She could feel each ridge of his burned face pressed against her skin, smell of his sweat and breath made the hair on her neck stand up. His hands gripped her back and down to her hips, she made claws from frustration on his chest. The finger tips were white from pressure, they slid from his chest to his back, hooking under his arms as she let him down her neck. He hadn't even kissed her yet but to be so close, to smell so deeply was all in the forefront of her mind. She felt his lips purse and drag along the ridge of her nape, it sent shivers up her spine. She jolted as she felt his tongue touch her skin, she pressed her breasts hard against his body. He squeezed her hips against his, she pressed her neck toward his mouth.

"Sandor," Sansa whimpered. As quick as his tongue met her skin, he rose his head. Suddenly she was the one in disbelief. He hung his head and slowly pushed her away, breathing was ragged and long. His shoulders heaved as he gathered himself, he looked at Sansa. She was breathing hard, blushing and lips reddened from the rush. He calmed down and stood up and opened the door, he looked back at her and with confusion in his brow bid her goodnight. He left the room, curt and quick.

Sansa was flush with embarrassment. For once, she was the one doing the scaring and doing so was certainly not what she wanted. She clasped her hands on her face, it was not how she imagined that happening at all. A favour and a bow, maybe many meals spent together, anything than a nap at mid day and a selfish want to not be alone. There could have been less romantic scenarios than that but it didn't matter because it still ended with a man fleeing her chambers. She sat at the foot of her bed wondering what to do with her nerves. She clutched her bed gown near the heart. Her sweat was more prominent down her face, she was still a bit sick but this heat on top of that.

It was warm, almost unbearable.

 

+++++

 

The sweetest honey, the kind made from the fragrant smelling flowers. It confuses the tongue but appeases the appetite in small doses. Someday, it might yearn for more even after learning the lesson of its sweetness. Sandor sat with no appetite at the end of a long table. Everyone had eaten before he came down. Many couldn't believe he was the one who nearly chopped enough wood for the whole castle keep. A few were drinking, sparsely around the other tables. None from the head table were awake, a slight sigh of relief escaped Sandor's lips. He rested his head on one of his hands, clenched in a fist. He looked at the plate, flat bread and brown. From what he could tell is was seasoned well, it was the smell. The brown was thick with chunks of meat, carrots and onion could be seen in the dim light of the hall. The bread was baked with rosemary and garlic, if the ingredients through the winter were rudimentary then the Northerns were at least going to spice their food to wade out the long years of cold.

No matter how many times he ignored it, Sandor's mind recalled over and over the sound of Sansa's moans. How could he push them aside when they were directly in his ear, a clear sound echoing and making it difficult to concentrate on the chunk of bread soaking in the stew's gravy. He shook his head and bit into the bread, it was soggy with gravy but it tasted fine. Pinching off another piece of bread, he pushed it into the stew and brought up another bite and another. Finding a simple train of thought was a his goal but it was interrupted by Sansa's smell, bite, her eyes, bite, her skin, bite. He was full of food but still sat famished. It was not the stew he wanted.

He sat in silence, many of the men moved on to slumber as he was still in swirling thoughts and memories. Pesky and repeated, the feel of her skin under his lips was making him thirsty. He drank the ale the serving girl left for him as she took his dish. He barely acknowledged her, she smiled and walked away collecting other dishes along the way. Sandor still leaning on his fist needed a walk, the cold would snap him out of any longing for a woman. He pulled his cloak on and walked out to the yard, it was dark and silent. The noise of snow and wind was echoing off the walls, he looked around and walked up the staircase to the battlements. There were a few men patrolling, a few torches lit, Sandor sat near the North facing wall. A man passed behind him and bid him good evening, he nodded back and as the guard walked down the other side Sandor leaned heavily against the stone work.

The cold was bitting his face, he breathed deep and long. His eyes barely fixing on a point, his confusion even screwed his eyes. Sandor needed to pull himself together. He closed his eyes as he controlled his breathing, he needed more time. You cannot turn into a polished rock sitting in a river for a day. He was nothing, there was no future for anyone attached to himself. Even a peasant would be better off with another. Sandor's purpose was killing and routine. His life has made the stuff of cruel rumors, a family as destructive as his was not meant to live long in this world. At least, that is what he hoped. He baited the gods before, asking to be killed every day he shielded the Lannisters. What is the quiet life when much of it has been lived on the brink of no return. Risk and death was his greatest game, never one for emotions and embraces. Sandor opened his eyes, the darkness still washing out the landscape. He stood straight up and sucked in the coldest breath, waking him. Exhaling and finding his centre, he felt the pangs of solitude like any man. He would not scare a woman to love him, he certainly knows that better than anyone now.

A day and night would pass since their shared moment, Sandor did not hear from Sansa. He shoved any ill thought of her wanton out of his head and tried other roles on around the keep. He helped the new stable hands lead a horse, he rode out to greet incoming supply carts, and he still chopped wood. Though, he feared all these chores would freeze his sword shut. Any time he paused to sip from a skin, to look at the horizon, the sun bouncing off the snow, he thought of her body. Even among the sparkling icicles that hung from the overhang of the rooftop, he could've swore he saw her red hair through the blurry ice.

It would be another day until she returned to the great hall. Many cheered as she sat at the head table, a few bold enough to bid her good health as they passed the front. Jon looking every bit relieved, Brienne looking every bit shiny. Sansa smiled and thanked each man and woman who greeted her, even a few free folk who stayed to fortify the keep were relieved she was well again. He saw her over his shoulder as he turned back, away from her possible focus.

Sandor was sitting across the large door of the hall, the interior door was open and night air being let inside. It was the first day it stopped snowing long enough for the men to get back to fixing the watch tower. Sandor thought about walking out that door and into the night air, he finished eating earlier than most but sat and to drink ale. He thought of the stars and how the black silhouettes of trees broke up the night sky as he slept under it all. If he found himself under those silhouettes now, the mysterious shapes of the night would still mirage Sansa to him. He rose and walked towards the door and exited the hall.

The air was brisk but warmer since the wind finally died down that day. Sandor walked past the men who pulled a night shift and through the yard. He rose up to the battlements and saw the same man on the North facing wall. The man was wearing two cloaks, one with a hood and the other without. He had furs under his leather jerkin, must've traded for furs from a free folk hunter. He nodded and greeted him and was about to pass by behind him but Sandor spoke to him.

"You were here a few nights previous. Do you take the night shift voluntarily?" Sandor inquired, his voice rumbling low.

"Aye, I do." the man replied, "I was never one for the mornings. Was running ships at night before, was the perfect job for me."

Sandor stood a bit stunned, how was it simple for this man to find a purpose. Whatever pays at night, a life boiled down to a single preference. He found his thoughts more defined, bolded as he thought to ask him how he knew his purpose but stayed his words.

"You're the Hound. You've seen more battles than even the oldest soldiers here." the man started up again, "Tell me, were the Lannisters as strange as the rumors that have surrounded them? Did you ever suspect Cersei's betrayal?"

Sandor felt a bit annoyed, his reputation as a Lannister dog was mostly trite but to what extent did people's words twist he had no idea. They all thought him a lap dog too. The man stood with his arms crossed, this was a man who liked to gossip but wouldn't admit to it.

"No, I did as I was ordered but I never stayed for their appreciation. They made it a habit not to give any." his lip twitched with spite, "I would never be acknowledged nor would they admit to any tampering on their part."

"Tampering?" The man cocked an eyebrow, "You saying they fight dirty, dog?"

"Not a dog anymore." reminding the guard, "And yes, at least when it concerns the Queen. Reporting to her was a struggle as she thrived on gossip and reactions. A jealous creature."

For a moment the two men stood in silence, Sandor shifted his weight from side to side and the old guard sniggered and started off towards the exit. He called back as he descended the stairs, "Well, you're one of us now. Get used to it."

 _What did that mean?_ Sandor wondered. He thought of his meaning, get used to the cold or perhaps it was the blunt ways the Northern talk to each other. He dwelled on that idea, he was never a great poet when it came to conversation. He was not a negotiator unless the deal was writ with steel. He stood there thinking on the guard's funny words. It had been a long time since he spoke freely and with friendly intent, it was not intentional and yet he felt an ease in his face. A small stress falling away, maybe connecting like how Podrick connected was not so difficult after all.

 

+++++

 

Sansa was finally well. She could barely believe it, she was able to breathe unhindered. Not uneven and full of pain. She took a deep breath and let out a happy sigh of relief. She requested a bath, a hot bath to wash her sickness away. Kitchen maids came up with the tub and dropped water from the hot spring from underneath the keep. It steamed joyously in her room. This bath would be the second thing in the whole realm she wanted, the first she would have to ponder a new approach.

The bath was ready and as the maids left her chamber, Sansa closed and locked the door behind them. She didn't wish to be disturbed. She dropped oils into the water that made the air spiced with memories of summer. Letting her robe drop to the floor, she slowly entered the bath letting it sate her skin. Sansa let the warmth engulf her being, heal her spirit. Cinnamon, nutmeg, apricot oils with a hint of star anise, she stewed in the hot bath and hugged her knees laying her head on them. The smells danced in her nose and thoroughly drenched the room. The windows steamed at the edges as the light shone in. It had stopped snowing and the sky was a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight. She scrubbed her arms and legs, making a point to check her finger nails for damage. Dipping her hair back into the water, she let the water rise above her ears. Her hearing submerged under the water, it was quiet and relaxing. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think of Lady but instead heard the deep breathes of Sandor Clegane. The breathes took turns against her own, she would breathe in and she swore she heard him breathe in too. His breaths were deep, like a razor cutting wood she felt every tooth grind down on her body. Sansa pulled her whole head under water but the sound persisted. She thought about his hands, his smell, and then his tongue on her skin.

Pulling her head up for air, Sansa's face was flushed red. She still remembered how his hands slid down her body and how they settled on her hips. He was squeezing her so hard she thought maybe she bruised but no marks were left behind. Laying back in the tub she thought of him, more than just the work of his hands but how when he tasted her nape her womanhood felt electrified. She was on the edge that night, her eyes rolling back as he nuzzled into her neck. Sansa gave out a sigh, looking straight up at the ceiling wondering what to do next. How do you tread back from that kind of interaction. _I guess you can't really._

Sansa exited the bathtub and dried off. The fire was still roaring as she dressed herself in newly laundered clothes. She had spent so much time in bed that the maids did her laundry, all her laundry. Sansa realized her keepsake was still in her closet, she hoped none of the maids trotted off with it when they cleaned her clothes. She opened the closet and searched for her dress she wore to the crypt that day. It was washed and hung neatly in her wardrobe. She looked around her room, hoping it fell to the way side. At last, she found it tucked into a glove. Sansa relieved picked it up and held it to her lips. It was a small cloth, ripped from a larger garment, stained with dots of blood. It was old as the blood had long turned brown but it was very important to Sansa.

It must have been Brienne who left it for her in her gloves. Who else could it have done such a great deed. Sansa folded the square cloth into a triangle and tucked it into a book by her bedside. Today, she had duties as the Lady of Winterfell. She wanted to speak with Sandor but it would come secondary until she was done her work. Family, duty, honor were the Tully words. Her mother's words. Sansa pulled on a grey dress with filigree vines along the belt line growing upwards into the bosom, a tribute to the late Queen.

The day toiled on, she met with the bannermen in the great hall. Progress reports on the watch tower, free folk queries, supply updates, it all bled together as Sansa reeled back. It wasn't all too much information it was all together boring but they were her duties. As the sun set, she was happy to hear the break for supper was at hand. A change in the gruelling schedule was welcomed.

Sansa returned to her chamber, she freshened her face with a cold cloth. She sighed into the cloth, another word about how cold it was and that the watch tower was not finished would result in screams. The day was done and Sansa was ready to tackle a different issue, one of the heart. Sansa unfurled her braid, the day had set large curls in her hair and it was just nice to relief any kind of tension. She plaited her top hair, making at two braids on the sides of her head and brought them together into a single plait behind her. She didn't weave ribbons or attempted a jewelled hair pin. She left the rest of her hair alone, tumbling freely down her back.

Upon her arrival to the great hall, there were more greetings and well wishes as she sat down at the head table. She was surrounded as she sat, many glad she was well and wishing her health for the future. She smiled, deeply touched. It was the first time in a long while that she felt the court was not a cesspool of liars and schemers, a community. There was a feast laid out for her, basil chickens stuff with brown rice and Autumn vegetables, roasted onions and potatoes in butter, and baskets of flat bread spiced with dill and lemon.

Sansa salivated, her lunch was bland and small. She thought to save her appetite for dinner, not sure if it was completely restored. Just the sight of the chicken made her stomach growl, she was glad to regain her strength. Before she could tuck in, there were still a few people waiting to wish her well. She spoke again and again and as the last man stumbled off, she saw Sandor stand and walk out the doors of the hall. A missed opportunity, she started into dinner suddenly losing momentum on her hunger. She ate and although it all tasted marvellous in her mouth, it did not satisfy her cravings. She filled herself up, until she couldn't eat another bite. She sat drinking with Brienne and Jon. Some free folk returned from a long journey to the remnants of the Dreadfort and pillaged it for supplies. All but a few people had moved when the Boltons took over Winterfell. Sansa burned their legacy and tore it to pieces. Just thinking of them made her insides turn, she fell quiet and decided it best to retire. Excusing herself to her chambers for the evening, she strode to her chambers alone. Her finger was inside her sleeve, she had forgotten she left her keepsake in her book.

She sighed in frustration as she opened the door of her chambers. As the door closed shut she sank to the floor. She was more than just a lady, she was definitively a woman. She wanted more than her perfect knight, only children wanted knights from books. She was older, she had seen more and experienced too much. She knew what she wanted. If settling the hurried waters of people's hearts was easy, she would do it. Over and over, until they were calm.

Sansa rested her back against the bed post, she was facing the warm hearth of the fireplace as she watched the fire flicker and glow. The reds and orange dancing on the floor, making shadows long and wide. Her bed laid behind her but all she wanted was to leave her chamber and find her warrior.

Sansa pulled herself up and untied her cloak, she laid it on the back of a chair and smoothed out the folds and wrinkles. She stared at it, wondering if anyone recognized it. If he recognized it, she had it for so long, she dyed it and carefully sewed it. It was dyed twice, once a mossy green and then a dark navy blue nearly black. Before it was ever touched by color, it was white and dirty. Dirty with blood and regrets of the past. A war bigger than she could wrap her mind around, a missed connection, a dark time. Her eyes drooped, she almost felt like crying when there was a knock at the door.

Sansa quickly pulled herself together and flatly replied, "Come in."

Sandor entered her chamber and closed the door behind him. Sansa's eyes lit up. Her back straightened, her lips parted. He stood and shifted a bit awkwardly from one foot to the other. It looked like he wanted to say something but silence formed between them. They shared a realization, they stared at each other with possibly the same intention behind their eyes. She walked quickly to him nearly stumbling over the end of her bed but never breaking eye contact, he reached out to her as she nearly tripped. He was holding her and she wanted him to never let go.

 


	5. Sandor IV / Sansa & Sandor V, VI / Sansa VII

There was no going back or trying to precede with caution around it. No matter where Sandor would walk to, he found himself coming back here to her. The very thought of being her knight was supposed to be pleasure enough but to have held her with every intention to kiss her was beyond any expectation he had for himself. Let alone it happening twice in a lifetime, it was all too much. His swiftness to Sansa's chambers was a rolling epiphany, the closer he got there the more convinced he was that this was what he was meant to do. He tore of his gloves, he undid his jerkin's laces, he unbelted his sword belt all before entering her chamber. That door closed and he dropped all that was his previous contemplation of purpose. He was holding her now, a frozen stare in both their eyes.

Sandor was lustful. He had tasted her sweat, he made her produce salacious moans from her lips. His mind was hers, his body was hers, his heart was hers and from the way she stared back at him it was all very apparent she knew that too.

Their desire was shared. Sansa looked up at Sandor with the gaze of a lover. He lowered his lips on her lips, quenching his greatest thirst. She kissed him back passionately, stepping up on her tip toes to reach him. She untied his cloak as he picked her up off her feet and on to the end of the bed, the cloak left his massive shoulders like a slow avalanche. Sandor shrugged off his jerkin and pulled off his tunic. Sansa smiled and beckoned for another kiss, Sandor only did as he was ordered. His hand fell to her lower back as he was leaning over her, her hands cupping his face. Her fingers catching his hair, lightly twirling it as she pulled him further onto the bed. Sandor grunted and crawled up the bed, Sansa scooting backward but never detaching. Always touching him.

 

+++++

 

Sandor attacked her neck, she gasped in delight and held on to the back of his neck. She closed her eyes and bent into his face, he was planting kisses down to her collarbone. Her chest heaved as her breath hastened a multiple of times as his face buried into her cleavage. Sandor picked her up, turned her around, and set her on her knees. It was easy for him, his arms flexed as she spun. He started to unlace her dress, pressing his face against her neck. Sansa straightened her back and helped him, working together to make quick work of the dress, it fell down to her knees and she was left in her sheer, silken small clothes. Sandor clutched her body to his, she could feel his hands searching her front and grasping at her silks. Sansa leaned into his chest, her head fell back on his collarbone as Sandor pulled the straps down and kissed her shoulders. He was hot, red hot through her back. His energy was filling the bed as she led her hands down his sides, thighs as muscular as a bull and tense from action. Sandor unstrung the front of her silk, it ran down and out of his fingers like water. Her breasts were exposed bare, milky white and spattered with light freckles with rosy erect nipples. Flush with arousal. He slid his hand up and cupped her breast, massaging rhythmically as the other hand pressed flat on her belly. It travelled down between her skin and her silks until a sensation from her womanhood. He was making use of his fingers, exploring her folds and making her slick with lust. Sansa was breathing ragged, moaning as his hands worked over her body. She gripped his thighs, he pushed on her pelvis and she grinded her backside into his manhood.

Her mind was flooding with passion and carnal desire. Her legs were shaking, her body cried in pangs of wanton and the ache for more. His hands were meant for her person, she loved the rough skin against hers. Her moans a story of unravelling love. She was sating her lover and yet egging him on to do more and Sansa wanted more.

 

+++++

 

Sandor was on the edge, his trousers tightening as his hands massaged Sansa into a writhing love goddess. The skin to skin contact, the rubbing between their bodies was more than enough to set him off. He kissed her neck, his fingers playing her like a finely tuned harp. Kneading her nub between her nether lips, he watched her face as he boldly pushed a finger inside her. He watched as her eyes fell back, bucking her hips, his name on her whimpering lips that were so red and juicy like a strawberry. Even bolder, stroking her he slid another finger to watch another jolt from her slender body. Her moan louder than before, he almost thought someone nearby could hear her.

Her wetness covered his hand and as he pulled out his fingers, she collapsed onto the bed. Sandor stared at her face, blushing she pulled down her small clothes until they were off and threw them aside. Sandor flashed a grin as he started to undo the laces on his trousers. His member on the verge of busting out, he pull out his rock hard manhood. Sansa gasped happily, she giggled a bit and got back up to meet Sandor completely. She kissed him lightly, inviting him to come closer. He replied with a nuance of playful pecks, grasping at her hips pulling her towards him. She eyes wanton and a brilliant sky blue, she nipped at his lower lip. She helped him out of the last of his clothing, the pants travelled off the bed as he pressed his body down on hers. The bed sunk under his weight, he felt his cock directly pressing on her entrance. She groaned for action, Sandor was happy to hear her demands made blunt.

Sandor arched his back and caged her in with his arms, he kissed her and she slipped her tongue to meet his. He loved the feeling of her tongue fighting with his as he advanced into her mouth. He pulled away and let his mouth travel down her neck and past her collarbone, he licked one of her reddened nipples and she made a short pained sound that pleased Sandor. Her breathing still quickened, he pressed on down her belly making sure to nuzzle her navel. She gave a quick laugh that turned into another cry of passion as he laid his lips on her nub. She hitched and jolted as Sandor entered her with his tongue, lapping her essence sending shocks of ecstasy up her back. Sandor grabbed her wrists as her back arched over and over. He travelled back up her body, kissing and tasting her breasts. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. He took it as a sign of satisfaction.

 

+++++

 

He was using his tongue to pleasure her and it made her body explode into a firework. What Sansa thought were the tallest peaks of her sexual pleasure was awash. Sandor came back up for air and she kissed him, tasting him and herself. She wanted to reply in kind, she sat up and pushed him on his back. He hummed as Sansa turned her body and kicked a leg out to trap Sandor's body between her legs. Her face was hot as she faced his hard member, lowering herself she took hold of his member and licked the tip of it. Sandor groaned harshly, she liked being able to pleasure him. His hands grasped her bottom as she started to stroke his member, he moaned again. Sansa relaxed her mouth and moved her lips past the tip of his throbbing member, her hands working his shaft as she sucked and took in more of him. Sandor grasped harshly as her ass, Sansa hummed and increased the speed of her stroke. One hand broke away and started to massage his balls, cupping and gently stroking the entirety of his manhood. Sandor bid her to stop, he was about to peak. He sat up and pushed Sansa's hips down to his again. She leaned back into his chest as Sandor wrapped his arms around her.

His arms were warm, the embrace was all encompassing. She was completely engulfed in his everything, she never wanted to be without this feeling. Laying back down on her side, Sandor began pushing into her ass. One hand on her hips and the other strung across her breasts. He grew bigger and Sansa hitched another breath, she was wet with anticipation. Sandor moved his hand that was on her hip down between her legs and guided his sex into hers.

 

+++++

 

Wet. And tight. His cock moving slowly into her, she screamed in pleasure. He smirked knowing he barely entered her, there was so much of him left to fill her. He pushed a bit deeper and Sansa reacted with an arched back, her nipples peaking at the curve. Sandor picked her up at the apex where they met and on their knees. He slammed his body into her, nearly all of him inside her and she moaned loudly into the pillow. Her head was down but he kept her ass lifted in the air. He pushed her knees together and straddled her back end slamming down into her plush pussy. Her arms out stretched in front of her, there was a moan for every slam downward into her body. Sandor grabbed the bed post with a free hand and steadied himself. He wanted to go deeper, he wanted to hear her sing.

Widening his hips, he pushed with all his groin. Her pussy was dripping wet, choking his cock and making him harder than he ever was before. He pulled out, still erect he turned her around. Sansa was catching her breath, her bosom heaving as she stared at him like an animal. Sandor bit his bottom lip and pulled her legs up in the air and leaned them on his chest. He kissed one of her calves, smooth and milky as he studied her aroused form. He tilted his head and grinned, holding her legs hostage against himself he entered her again. The rush of entering her womanhood hardened Sandor, his hips moving in time with her breathing. His member pushing and pulling in and out of her. With every entry, Sandor was taken higher and higher into the finest feeling he ever knew he wanted. Grunting, he sped up the pace which made Sansa call out his name. Inhaling faster and faster, he gripped her until she was near release. He slowed down and made her beg for more.

'Faster, harder' was her whispered commands. Sandor released her legs from his chest as he wrapped them around himself. He bent over and kissed her. 'My lady' was his reply back as he grabbed her thighs and pushed the hardest into her, letting her feel every inch of him. Entering and exiting as long and hard as he could, he stayed a steady pace. He rocked her body back and forth, his whole being was riding her as hard as a rapid river.

It was time, he sped up again. Minding her face, waiting for her ultimate release. She moaned soundless, her hands went limp as she found her climax. Sandor arched his back in his last thrusts, shooting his seed deep inside her. He gritted his teeth and found himself looking straight at the ceiling. He let out a loud exhale, he relaxed and fell down on the bed. They laid there until Sansa shuffled over to Sandor and made comfortable in the security of his arms. They lay together, Sandor took in the transpired events that led them to this very moment. He pulled a blanket over them both as he gripped Sansa from behind. She laid her hand on his arm that was under her head. His need for slumber was apparent, Sansa's eyelids had fallen and as Sandor was drifting off he felt her shift and turn into him deeper. He smiled meekly and fell to sleep.

+++++

 

Morning arrived, the room was filled with beams of sunlight. The air still smelled of fiery lust, Sansa awoke to Sandor cradling her head as he read the book from her nightstand. He was trying not to move since his arm was under her head. She smiled and kissed him sweetly on his cheek.

"This is the trite drivel you read?" Sandor rasped, annoyed for having read the first few chapters of her book. It was linen bound, titled 'The Stable Boy and His Horse'.

"Terrible, but there isn't much in the library after the Ironborn burnt it down." Sansa took the book from his hands as she smirked, "It's just where I hid one of the few tokens I took from King's Landing."

"Oh," Sandor yawning, "What would that be?"

Sansa pulled the small cloth from the book. It was the cloth Sandor used to clean her broken lip. He stared at it, she looked at him and she knew he remembered.

"I..." he stammered, "Well, I..."

Sansa turned his face into her and kissed him on the lips, pausing his reply and replacing it with another. He pull her close and kissed her deeply. Sansa examined his face, he was peaceful looking in the morning. Her frustrations about her feelings were finally out in the open, she hoped he felt the relief too. She cuddled and nestled into his burly chest. His face with in a lightened mood, he pulled her close and smelled her hair. Sansa blushed lightly as she felt his hands searching her body, reminding himself of her curves. She bit her lip as she turned her body with her back to his chest. Running her hand down his arm, she guided his hand down her belly.

Sandor lowered his head beside hers and whispered into her ear, "Making use of every second are we?"

"I like when your fingers touch me," Sansa confessed, "It's a sensation I can't get enough of. I crave you."

"My queen, if she commands me who am I to deny her." Sandor rasped gently into her ear. Sansa giggled as he did as he was commanded.

 

 

 

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> Congratulations SanSanites, you are the sole reason I broke my fanfiction ban and wrote this piece. I haven't written a fic since I was in high school, that was 14 years ago. I gotta say, it was a lot of fun. I haven't been this enveloped with characters for a long time.
> 
> I had goals when I started this fic, I was trying very hard to keep in tone and emulate GRRM style of writing. It's really difficult. Just trying to stay in character was hard. I wanted to jump around as the observer.
> 
> A few things that I set out to do here:
> 
>   1. Try not to use modernized words; it's really hard, I know it's not completely combed of it and all I can say is I tried
>   2. The first two chapters were the ones I worked the hardest on, I found trying to think of what medieval people do is tough when I can play Pokemon Go
>   3. I purposely did not describe Sandor and Sansa's features because there are so many great interpretations and I didn't want to mess up the canon between show and book that I felt that if the reader is already here for SanSan then they have a version in their head and all I have to do is invoke it
>   4. I know, the characterizations of the other characters were weak and little and it was not my intention to work on them
>   5. I tried to fit Tormund in there but since I wasn't working very hard on the other characters, I fore went adding him
>   6. The sex scene at the end was mostly for me, I wanted to know if I could write a fairly good or at least well described scene of love making
> Well, I hope this was enjoyed in some capacity.



End file.
